Setting My Sights
by SVUFanatic611
Summary: one-shot from Kathleen Stabler's POV (post-Doubt) "I guess I could understand why Mom would want to pick up and leave, but that didn't mean I had to agree with her or her opinion."


Title: Setting My Sights

Author: SVUFanatic611

Rating: PG-13

Summary: I guess I could understand why Mom would want to pick up and leave, but that didn't mean I had to agree with her or her opinion.

Disclaimer: SVU and its associated characters are not mine.

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_-Kathleen Stabler's POV-_

There we were, packing up only the important parts of our lives, preparing to leave my father behind where he'd be left trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered life; the pieces my mother, my siblings, and I were leaving behind.

I hated doing it. I hated leaving. I hated my mother for making me go through it.

I'm not some naïve teenager who thought her parent's marriage was paradise. I knew they fought a lot. I knew it was about my father's hours, my father's job, and, sometimes, about my father's partner. I knew it was because my father refused to bring work home, even if that meant shutting my mother out so she never touched the horrible world in which he worked.

I guess I could understand why Mom would want to pick up and leave, but that didn't mean I had to agree with her or her opinion. I had never resented Dad for what he did or what time he didn't spend with us. I think I was the only one in my family who actually took pride in what my dad did. I know, it's not something to be _extremely_ proud of. Having your father work with rape, incest, murder, and violence day in and day out isn't exactly glorious or noteworthy, but I thought it was. The fact that he could face that every day and then come home and kick around a soccer ball with me was astounding. I always thought of Dad as a real-life superhero; as an extraordinary man who could do things only ordinary men dream of. I've never thought of my dad as anything less.

But, there we were, leaving him behind because, in my mother's eyes, my dad couldn't be a career man and a family man at the same time. It just didn't seem fair to me.

We loaded our bags and boxes into the car and, although my mom didn't actually say where we were going, I knew we were going to my grandparents'. It was the only place we _could_ go. My mom didn't know anybody that would take in, not only her, but three children for an indefinite amount of time. Well, I guess you would count the twins as children. They were more like animals, in human form.

We arrived at my grandparents' and time just seemed to stand still. My mom didn't move and her hands were still planted on the steering wheel. The twins sat in the backseat, casually staring at my mother, then at each other, and then expectantly at me in the passenger seat, like I knew what to do. I just kept my head down, not wanting to face what was going on. My mom finally spoke after what seemed like an eternity.

"Kids, go in and tell your grandparents we're here."

The twins did as they were told, but I held my ground. I planted myself in the passenger seat and I had no intentions of moving. I wasn't going to succumb to my mother's wishes. She wanted me to go inside. She wanted me to be mad at Dad. Hell would freeze over before I did either.

"Kathleen, go inside," she said, in a soft voice, but I knew she was firm.

"No, I'm not going to go."

"I'm assuming you're on the defense for your father."

She knew me too well. She knew I had always been a daddy's girl and how I felt about my father. "Yeah, I am. I don't think it's fair. To me, the twins, or to him."

"Kathleen, I really don't want to talk about this right now. It's late and I just don't have the energy."

The hell she was going to push me away now. She brought this on herself. If she had the energy to pack up and leave, she damn well better have the energy to explain to me why. "Too bad," I said, scoffing, ready to pick a fight. "I can't believe you left because Dad didn't want to discuss his job with you."

"It goes a whole lot deeper than that."

I ignored her and continued. "I can't believe you left because he didn't want to share at the dinner table how women were raped and…and…beaten and torn apart!" My mind searched for the words and I shot them out so fast I didn't even realize what I had said. My voice just seemed to rise with every syllable, not completely sure of what was coming out.

"Kathleen," she said, taking a deep breath, trying to maintain composure. "It's much more than that."

"No, Mom, I don't think it is," I said with finality. I didn't want to go inside, but staying in that car with the woman I hated the most was so much worse. I opened the car door and slammed it for emphasis. I stomped to the front door, let myself in, and found the twins sitting at the kitchen table with my grandparents sitting with them. My grandma rose at my entrance and took me into a hug. I was reluctant to return it.

"It's going to be okay, Kathleen. You're safe now," she said, stroking my hair. What _was_ this? What was she thinking? 'Now I'm safe'? I was _never_ in any danger.

"Grandma, I've always been safe," I said, probably more harshly than I should have.

She ignored my comment and went on. "Kathleen, you look so thin," she started. Of course I was thin, I was in serious training for soccer, but I wasn't anorexic by any means. "I'm going to get you something to eat."

"No, Grandma, I'm fine. I'm just really tired. Where can I sleep?" I said it with less politeness than I had intended, but I didn't care. I wanted to go away from everything and cry. I've always thought as crying as some sort of weakness, which is the reason why I scarcely did it. But, for the first time in my life, I wanted to admit defeat and just cry until the river inside me had run dry. Hell, I wanted to bawl my eyes out…complete with a temper tantrum.

"Are you sure?" she said, as my mother walked inside. I took one look at her and I could tell she had been crying since I stormed out of the car.

"I'm positive," I said through gritted teeth. "Just…where can I go to sleep?"

Thank the Lord for my grandfather. He had always been the rational one. He saw that I was tired and ready to blurt out something I was going to regret. He knew that if he didn't get me into a bed pretty soon, a fight would erupt between me and my mother – a larger one that wouldn't be just yelling and pointing fingers. He spoke up to prevent either from happening.

"Here, Kat, I'll show you," he said. Normally, I hated being called 'Kat', but it had always been his pet name for me. He stood and walked over. He put a reassuring hand on my mother's shoulder as he passed her, and then he reached me. He took me into a hug and led me up the stairs to the guestroom.

"Liz is also sleeping here, so don't hog everything," he said, in a joking, sarcastic tone. "Because you know she'll throw a fit and your grandmother will try to make her feel better by cooking a four-course meal."

I let out a soft laugh to please him. For the most part, he was right. Liz _would_ throw a fit, but as for the whole four-course meal thing, I wasn't so sure. It was more like a three-course meal.

He stared at me a little. "Don't worry, Kitty-Kat, you'll get through this. You will, as will your mother and your siblings. It's just going to take some time." 'Kitty-Kat' was also on the list of names that I despised, but he did offer me some accurate advice. I just was in no mood to be grateful for it. I nodded and he patted my shoulder before he left. I leaned against the wooden doorframe, about to cry. I turned to see my mother at the bottom of the stairs and we shared a glance. Hers was begging me for understanding and…I don't know…forgiveness, maybe? Mine was filled with contempt and hatred.

I ran inside the room and slammed it for a dramatic effect, just like I had done with the car door. I fell against the door and let everything come out. I cried and cried, and wailed out to God, begging for an answer of why this was happening. I was beginning to doubt he even existed. He was supposed to be this guider and protector. If he truly was, why hadn't he guided my parents to a better life? Why hadn't he protected me, Liz, Dickie, and even Maureen from the pain this entailed? I also had a feeling that he wasn't going to protect my dad from any pain he was going to feel when he came home to the empty house. Why wouldn't he protect even him? _Why?!_

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Days passed. Like I said before, time just seemed to stand still. Seconds felt like hours and hours felt like weeks. I refused to go to school. Instead, I locked myself in the guestroom, browsing through scrapbooks. Maureen had taken a craft class over the summer once, and she decided as an activity that she would make albums with all the loose pictures. They were the most treasured thing I brought to my grandparents' house – other than the frame which held the photo of me and my dad at my first soccer game. The game in which I scored the winning goal.

I spent my time flipping through the pictures, remembering the events they depicted; remembering when we used to be a happier family, remembering when my mom and dad didn't fight.

I cried more in those few days after we left than I had in my entire life.

The evenings were horrible. My mom would come home from her shift and the twins would come home from school. My grandmother was obviously doing everything in her power to defend her daughter, rationalizing everything so nothing would be my mother's fault. She would serve dinner and during the entire meal, she would go on and on about my father. The meal was filled with "I told you he wasn't good, Kathy." "When you said he wanted to become a cop, I knew something was going to go wrong." and "He's no good, Kathy. He doesn't do a damn bit of good for you or these kids." The last one pissed me off to no end. It took everything inside of me not to lunge across the table and choke the living daylights out of my grandmother.

My grandfather didn't seem biased in the least. But, then again, he was like that. He never had time for bullshit stories and he always looked for facts. He knew my dad wasn't home a lot and he didn't talk all that often to my mom. But, he also knew and understood why. Every time something would come out of my grandma's mouth that he knew I wouldn't take well, he changed the subject. Like I said, thank the Lord for my grandfather.

One night in particular, the tension was so bad. My mom had come home, and in a futile attempt, she tried to talk to me. It had been the fifth time since we had arrived that she had tried to "explain to me why this was happening". I had neither the time nor the patience. I said a few select words to her and shoved her out of the room, again slamming it for a dramatic effect. I, again, fell against the door, crying, wailing out in such emotional pain. But this time, I didn't drown my sorrows. This time, I had to get away.

I stood, wiped my tears, and searched for a way out. I finally decided upon the window. Even though it was on the second floor, there was a way I could get around and down without hurting myself too bad. To tell the truth, I wouldn't have minded getting hurt. It would have proved to me that I could actually feel something – that I wasn't completely numb. I grabbed my cell and went.

I tried making my escape and I got one foot out the window when I heard a voice on the other side of the door. It was Liz.

"Lee?" she started. 'Lee' had always been her nickname for me. When she was younger, she couldn't pronounce my entire name. "Lee? Is everything okay?" she asked. She must've heard the commotion Mom and I had made. Then again, who didn't?

I didn't want to answer her. I was afraid that she would want to have a heart-to-heart with me. Don't get me wrong, I love my sister, but she depended on me to be the strong sibling when things went wrong ever since Maureen had gone to college. I was in no condition to be that person. I _couldn't_ be that person. I didn't want to let her down.

I didn't want to, but I answered her.

"Liz, everything's fine," I said, still with one leg out the window. Hopefully that was enough to please her so she'd leave me alone.

"Are you sure? Can I come in?" she asked.

"Please don't, Liz. I'm really fine," I said, growing increasingly nervous. Leave it up to my sister to ruin what could've been a quick escape.

My sister was never one to listen to direct orders. I heard her hand on the doorknob and I could hear her try to open it. Too bad, Liz. It's locked. The door creaked open to reveal my sister in a pair of long jeans and her cheerleading competition t-shirt.

Shit. Forgot to lock the door.

She caught me red-handed trying to escape. I didn't pull my leg out fast enough. "What are you doing, Lee?" she asked, slightly berating me.

"Nothing, Liz," I answered. I could even hear the irritation in my voice.

"I doesn't look like 'nothing'." She paused, staring at me. "Were you running away?" she asked, louder than I would have liked. I realized the door was still ajar. I got down from the sill and walked over to the door. I peaked outside, finding no one in sight and closed it.

My sister was actually pretty mature for her age, understanding true emotion and pain better than any other eleven-year-old I knew. That included Dickie. So I knew that if I told her what I was doing, she'd understand. Maybe not to the complete extent of my feelings, but she'd get the general idea. I decided to come clean with my sister.

"I'm not running away. I just needed to get out for awhile."

"Why?"

Okay. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe she really didn't understand. Or, maybe she was just slow comprehending.

"Why do you think, Liz?" I asked, making my way back to the window once again. She didn't respond and just watched my eyes. They were searching for a way down. I continued. "Liz, I'm going."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I don't know. Depends on how hard I wanna think about things." Both of my legs were out the window at that point, ready to grip the shingles of the roof. I took one look at my sister, letting her know I was serious and then focused my attention on the roof again. I jumped down and landed with more ease than I expected.

Liz stuck her head out the window. "What do you want me to tell Mom if she asks me about you?" she asked with worry.

"I don't expect you to lie for me, Liz. Tell her I went out. I don't care."

"Lee, before you go…" she said stopping me. "If you go and see Dad, tell him that I miss him and I love him, will ya?"

I hadn't even thought of seeing Dad, but it wasn't a bad idea. "I will. Don't worry."

I made my way down, escaping a close encounter with my grandmother in the living room window. I reached the precious, level ground and ran off, not knowing exactly where I was going. I remembered what Liz had said – about seeing Dad. But, I couldn't walk to Queens.

Then I remembered my dad probably wasn't home anyway. It was still pretty early for him – 11:30pm. Unless it was a case that had a ticking clock involved, Dad tried to be home by midnight for us. Now that we were gone, he had no need to come home early. He probably just stayed at the stationhouse.

Wait…the stationhouse. That's where he would be! From my grandparents' house, the station wasn't far. I could make it.

So, that's where I set my sights…the 1-6 precinct.

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A/N – I figured I'd write something about the recent stuff in Elliot's life from the POV of one of his kids. Thought it was an interesting take. I know, I know, a lot of you want me to update _One Of Their Own_, but I have such writer's block. And this little ditty wouldn't stop dancing in my head, so I figured if I got this written and posted, it might help me get passed writer's block. Review and tell me what you think and whether or not you want me to write a sequel or something telling about Kathleen's visit to the 1-6. Thanks for reading and bearing with me and my cursed writer's block! Until next post, adios! -Jessica -

PS – Sorry about the title, it may seem stupid, but I couldn't think of anything else!


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